


You Didn't Have to Die to Leave a Legacy

by azneraCarenza



Series: Past and Present [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, F/M, I use quotes from the supports in this too, I'm Bad At Tagging, Mentions of Death, sad family feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:52:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azneraCarenza/pseuds/azneraCarenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Owain enters the new world intent on preventing its dark future, he didn't think to worry about changes in its past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Fire Emblem or any of it's characters.
> 
> My first Fire Emblem fic, so I hope it's decent. Thanks to Queenvonkarma for Beta checking this, and for discussing this AU with me, no matter how much it hit us in the feels.

Owain might have hesitated as they approached the path opened to the past. He might have looked back, eyes searching for one last glimpse of the universe that he had called his home, where he had been raised by loving parents and surrounded by faithful friends.  
If he wasn’t surrounded by those same friends, turned comrades in the long war that had taken his parents from him, he might indeed have looked back. But he didn’t. Instead, he kept his eyes ahead, a shade of his old victorious grin awkwardly plastered on his face as a show of his certainty that they would succeed this time. They had to.

At least if they failed this time, they had nothing left to lose.

 

As they walked into their new destiny, Owain closed his eyes against the blinding light, and found himself confronted with images from his past. Memories from his childhood filtered through his mind as if he were dreaming, from running through the castle halls leading his friends into a fake battle, to being reprimanded for staying up late to read the stories of heroes of old found in dusty books much older than himself. His mother cheering him up after a fall and kissing his wounds better, which naturally was the most effective cure for minor scrapes and bruises. She was a healer, so of course she knew these things. His father helping Owain to hold his wooden training sword, letting him win of course, but not before he’d tried his best. In later years his father had become rather stricter with his lessons until Owain held as many true victories as false ones.  
When he eventually woke up, it seemed almost as if the dreams had been a reality. His eyes remained stubbornly shut, putting off the inevitability of waking until the last images had faded from his imagination. Perhaps when he opened them, he would still be a child playing with his friends while his parents looked on.

As he gave in to the temptation, he could almost believe it. He had no idea where he was, but it was so beautiful and green that he felt as if he had indeed travelled back to the past, before the land was overrun with risen and grimleal. It was so different from the time that he knew, in fact, that he had to pinch himself to make sure it wasn’t simply an extension of his earlier dream, or perhaps some hallucination derived from the master plan of an evil mage…  
Whatever the case, he was here. Wherever here was. He quickly checked his belongings, finding his trusty sword still at his side, as ever. He drew the killing edge, his intent being to check that the sharp edge was still as effective as the designation claimed, but he got lost in the memories associated with the blade. As he returned his trusty partner to its sheath, his hand ghosted over his pouch, where another sentimental item lay. He was about to draw it from its holdings, to ensure that it had remained as good a condition as it had been left already, but he was distracted by the finding of his justice manual. At least he had those words of knowledge with him in these times, admittedly less dark than he was used to, but threatened all the same.

Of course, this world was under threat as much as his own had been. A threat that he, the scion of legend, was destined to destroy! He got up off of the floor, suddenly filled with a sense of hope and excitement at the thought that he and his allies could defeat the growing despair in this world to prevent this world becoming as dark and deadly as their own. There was just one thing missing.

He’d been assuming that his friends would be nearby, but as he looked around, there was no one near him.

“What madness is this, that I find myself separated from my noble comrades? Have no fear, for I will ensure that we will be reunited!”

Who he was shouting at, he wasn’t sure. He spent a while walking around the area he had found himself, but he found nothing. Some of his usual bravado began to fade as he tired of the search.

“Inigo? Cynthia? Brady, Lucina? Anyone?”

No reply. It was quieter than anything Owain was used to, no comments from his friends, not even the near-constant moaning noises of the Risen they had been surrounded by for so many years. Not even the sound of his own voice, which had been his constant companion.

As he started to move away from the clearing in which he’d reappeared, he began to sing to himself. Quietly, of course, since even he had become aware of the dangers of attracting attention to himself, but enough to break the overbearing silence. It was a song detailing the journeys of a would-be hero through various exploits, each more ridiculous than the last. His Mother used to sing it to him when he was small to make him laugh, and he’d treasured the words ever since.  
After what seemed like hours, he saw the outline of a village on the horizon. Perhaps he would be able to ask for his location, or if he was really lucky then perhaps they could spare some food. As he continued to approach the small cluster of buildings, he began to feel invigorated for some reason. He sped up, borderline running towards his destination, gradually getting close enough to hear shouting, cruel laughter, and the unmistakable sounds of weapons being drawn. His smile returned to his face, and his sword hand began to twitch as if seeking the grip of his weapon. He had uncovered injustice in the making, and he would not stand for it! The first steps to preventing this world’s dark future had begun.

 

***

Unbeknownst to Owain, on the other side of the hamlet stood an army of sorts. A princess stood talking to her would-be niece, asking about her future.

“Oh, geez! I’d better get cracking if I want to live up to that.”

There was a pause as her eyes strayed to other members of their party, watching them interact with their latest recruits. In fact, Lucina herself had only just joined them, and as she looked between Chrom and the blue-haired girl in front of her, she couldn’t help but wonder…

“Oh! I know! Do I have…”

“Aunt Lissa?”

“Sorry, I just remembered I promised to help Chrom with something… Bye!”

As she made a quick escape, Lucina was left watching her Aunt’s departure and wondering what she was going to tell her cousin when they eventually found him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this so soon after the prologue since this is where the plot starts :)

Owain was too lost in the moment to even notice the other people approaching them. He was defending the innocent, taking on the foul bandits plaguing the poor villagers with his trusty companion. Together they were going to win this fight, even if more and more foes kept appearing from around the buildings. No matter how many of them there were, however, they stood no chance against him.

“I am the wolf who howls for justice! The eagle who cries for love! A chosen warrior come from the future to bring hope to a dying world… I am Owain!”

In between his heroic declarations, he heard more footsteps approaching behind him. The thought of them being more enemies for him to face didn’t scare him, however. Not after what he had faced in his own world.

“Now, atone for your deeds in the eternal hellfire of perdition! RADIANT… DAAAAAAWN!”

He attempted to engage the leader of the group of miscreants in one-to-one combat, however he felt an inexplicable rush of nerves.

“Blast you, sword hand! Now’s no time for games!”

As he continued to verbally slay his foes, he failed to register the reactions of the people behind him. If he had, he might have found some familiar voices speaking of him. As familiar as his uncle, in fact.

“…I am so lost right now. What is he even talking about? Never mind. Let’s just kill the bandits, and I’m sure everything will sort itself out.”

As loath as Owain was to admit it, the fight only truly began when the group behind him suddenly rushed to his aid. If he had looked back then he would have recognised many if not all of them, but his sword hand was too occupied with driving back the enemy forces. It wasn’t until he was definitively approached by one of his anonymous allies that he even thought further about who they could be.

“Oh, hey! It’s you. Thanks for helping-“

That voice was one of very few that would have caused him to react, and one of only two that he had been desperate to hear for a very long time. He spun around, miraculously distracted from the needs of his sword hand.

“MOM?!”

“Hu-what?”

He took a second to just look at her, seeing a woman younger than the one he’d known, but otherwise very much identical to his mother. He barely registered someone else, Brady’s mother maybe, standing beside her, but his attention was very much focused on his own parent.

“Blessed Mother! I have crossed oceans of time to find-“

For once, he was too impatient to construct the words in his typical manner.

“Oh, forget it. I’m your kid from the future!”

She looked unconvinced, looking to Maribelle before looking back at Owain. Perhaps she simply needed more proof of his claim.

“Look at the ring upon my finger. Behold, a perfect match to yours! Unique in all the world, and yet here lie two. Proof positive my claims are true!”

“…Who did what now? Hold on. Slow down. Back up. Start again. That isn’t even my ring.”

She was obviously having trouble believing him, and the ring, his conclusive proof, wasn’t working for some reason. Maybe his father had chosen something different in this timeline? He supposed that she might just need time to come round to the idea of his existence. By now he had noticed Lucina fighting her way towards one of the villagers, and so he assumed that they were all aware of the situation, but he supposed that it was a lot to take in.

“Um… Sorry about that. Look, the important thing here is that I’m…”

“In the midst of a fight! Please remember where you are before you risk my darling Lissa’s safety, insolent young man.”

With that, His mother was pulled away from him. He supposed that Maribelle had been right, and mentally lectured himself on the risks of causing a distraction during a fight as he returned to his heroic duty. There would be plenty of time for him to reunite with his parents later, now that he had found them.

With the help of his Uncle’s units, the battle was soon won. The Shepherds were beginning to regroup and exchange stories, seeing who had defeated the most bandits, who had performed the most daring feat to defend a villager. Owain had never really seen the first generation of Shepherds in action, and it was a wonderful sight to behold. All of these fabled warriors interacting and sharing stories was like a dream come true for him, and he began to relax like everyone else.

As it turned out, relaxing was a bad idea. He had begun to move towards his mother, now that she was temporarily alone on the outskirts of the group, but as he approached her he saw one last bandit running towards her. He immediately broke into a run himself, acting just as she noticed the threat. The vile offender was defeated almost instantly, as Owain felt a rush of adrenaline pass through him from the chance to protect her as he could not before.

“No one hurts the mother of Owain! Mother, are you all right?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m… Holy Crow! Your arm!”

Her voice was a little shaky, but the familiar tone made him feel like a young child again. He looked at his arm, wondering if he’d perhaps been injured without realising, and found that it was only his clothing that had fallen victim to the foul enemy. He’d just ask Gerome to fix it later, assuming that they’d found Gerome and that he felt like admitting his ability to sew.

“This? Hah! It’s not but a torn sleeve.”

“…No, I mean, HOLY CROW, LOOK AT THAT THING ON YOUR ARM!”

She was staring at it intently, and for a second Owain was questioning her worrying over his clothing when he knew that she was just as bad when it came to the mending of outfits, until he pulled at the fabric to fully reveal the mark underneath.

“Oh, right! Sorry. Guess I should have shown you before. It’s my Brand. The one carried by House Ylisse. So no more need to worry, eh?”

“Th-then you know? That I don’t…”

His mother wasn’t meeting his eyes, trying to look anywhere but at him or his brand. He knew of course that hers had never surfaced, but when his had first appeared she had been laughing and crying for joy. Now, however, she just looked uncomfortable. He didn’t know why, but something was holding her back from celebrating.

“It was by chance alone your Brand never surfaced. We’re all family, linked by blood. You really are Chrom’s sister, and I really am your son. My brand proves our lineage.”

She almost smiled at that, but there was still something in her face that made Owain feel uneasy for a reason he couldn’t quite seem to find. It didn’t help that Maribelle had reappeared, standing behind Owain’s mother protectively.

“Brady has informed me that you are indeed my darling wife’s son, despite your bizarre taste in jewellery. I have to say that I am still unconvinced that he didn’t simply steal my ring after all, with his thuggish appearance, but I suppose that we must take your word as true while you are willing to ally yourselves with us.”

“Yes! And as scions of the hero, it falls on us to ensure my dark future doesn’t come true… Wait, your wife?”

Owain looked between them, seeing for the first time the comfortable way they stood together, the fond looks they exchanged, and watched as his mother reached out to grab Maribelle’s hand. He just stood there, staring with his mouth wide open until his mother looked almost concerned.

“Umm… is he gonna be ok?”

“Of course he is, darling. He’s just shocked. Gods know he’s reacted better than Brady, with his ridiculous tears and refusal to admit it. Honestly, a son of any version of me should have a little more decorum… Who were you expecting to see in my place then?”

Owain still didn’t respond, and Lissa didn’t comment either. Maribelle looked between them impatiently, tapping her fingers against her parasol as she waited for a response.

“Come on now, it can’t possibly be worse than my son reportedly being fathered by my own brother-in-law, for goodness sake. Thanks to your relationship, the ring that Chrom apparently gave me bears the same crest as the one you gave me, though honestly, you’d think that my alternate self would have had more taste-“

“Oh come on Maribelle, isn’t it obvious? Just look at him!”

Owain had been told many times over the years that he resembled his father, his hair, his eyes, even his posture and the way he handled a sword. As he watched Maribelle study him intently, he could pinpoint the exact moment that she realised it. Before she could say anything though, Brady appeared and made some excuse about needing to check Owain for injuries. He found himself being dragged away by his friend, who stopped in a quiet corner of the rapidly growing campsite and gave Owain a sympathetic look. Owain would have to face his father eventually, but for now his mind was blank of even his usual heroic catchphrases.

He drew his sword, examining the blade as he often had done in trouble times. Its name ran through his head, named for the bravest hero he had ever heard the tale of.

Lon’qu.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chrom had announced that they would be camping for the night before regrouping with the rest of the army, who had been dispatched to dissipate a group of risen they had heard of on their travels. Since he had little else to do, Owain accepted the blankets he was offered and set them up in the tent he was to share with his cousin, Brady. Could they still be classed as cousins in this world, where they would be considered to be siblings? Thinking about it made Owain’s head hurt, so he stopped in favour of making notes about his first victory in this new world in his justice manual. Eventually Brady retired to the tent himself, looking at Owain with an air of suspicion, as if he feared that Owain would either fly at him with a weapon demanding answers or burst into tears.

Owain did neither, instead flashing Brady a quick smile before returning to his writing. Brady just huffed with annoyance, but he kept quiet as he tended to the strings of a fiddle he had produced from somewhere. Eventually, Owain could no longer draw out the silence, placing the manual safely in its wrappings before turning to Brady.

“This is a threatened world indeed if Lady Maribelle won’t be ruling with her notorious iron will. Who did your noble father marry in this world?”

Lady Maribelle had indeed been famed for her strong opinions, but more notably for her ability to strike fear into the hearts of any who would oppose her husband’s rule with only a parasol to hand. Truth be told, she had made an excellent queen.

“Pop married a village girl he saved from a bunch ’a thugs. Still had Luci though. She always was more like pop than me. An’ the others, their parents are all married to the right people. Looks like it’s just you an’ me.”

Brady didn’t elaborate on the situation that they alone shared, because Owain already knew. If the other’s parents were indeed happily married, then they would all be… well, born. Himself and Brady, on the other hand… Well, it wasn’t worth fretting over now. They had more important, and more heroic, duties to fulfil. They had known well that their parents would have their own lives here, and perhaps their own children born already, however Owain could not have predicted this scenario.

Tomorrow at least, he could meet his father again. Even to see his face after so many years, and to see him alive and well, would be enough to satisfy Owain. Perhaps they could fight together in the name of a brighter future for this world, and if he managed to pick up some new special moves, then who could complain?

The rest of the evening was spent discussing the events that had passed since they had been separated, including the recruiting of most all of the other members of their party. Naturally Gerome had been difficult, Inigo had been chasing after some poor maiden as per usual, and Morgan seemed to have lost all memories altogether, including those of his father.  Upon hearing that news, Owain had felt a surge of sympathy for his old rival. He may have had to face his parent’s separation in this world, but at least he had his memories of them intact.

They soon settled to sleep for the night, although Owain took longer than usual to drift off. He had too much on his mind for that. First, he was trying to somehow figure out how to rationalise a portal through time that would allow comrades who stepped through together to be separated across the continent over a questionable period of time, although he supposed that his questions would be nothing to Laurent’s. Putting that particular issue aside, he focussed on the idea of being reunited with his closest allies and friends. He had found himself missing them dearly, especially people like Cynthia and Inigo, who were amongst his oldest companions. He was sure that Cynthia would be delighted to see the plentiful wildflowers still alive in this future, since it had always been a dream of hers to ride into battle in a shower of petals. Owain decided that he would consult her on a dramatic entrance of his own, something that could catch his father’s eye. No doubt the more cynical members of the group, (not mentioning any names of course, Severa, Gerome), would question his judgement, but he had long since given up on the idea of missing out on simple pleasures when they were available. Life was too short for that, as they all knew too well.

By the time the next morning arrived, Owain had risen with the sun and was waking Brady to help him disassemble their tent far earlier than he would usually rise. As a result, he had left their shelter in search of food rubbing the quickly-rising lump on his head where his dear cousin had hit him over the head with a staff. So he was a little enthusiastic, but what else could Brady have expected from the soon-to-be fabled hero on the day he was to be reunited with his greatest role model.

By the time they had finished clearing their camp, Owain’s sword hand was twitching with impatience. It seemed forever had passed by the time they were able to see the main force’s camp, and even longer before they reached it. As they approached the tents, Owain was able to make out the shapes of a few familiar silhouettes waiting for them. He sped up, grinning as Brady and Lucina no doubt followed him to greet their friends. As soon as he was within reach he was jumped on by Cynthia and Morgan before pulling Inigo in for the hug he obviously wanted but was acting too cool to reach for.  

“Owain! We thought you’d turned into a coward and run away from out pursuit of true justice!”

“Yeah! It’s about time you showed up!”

“Oh Gawds, why were you so worried about him anyway?”

Owain smiled happily, laughing for the first time in what seemed like years. Perhaps it had indeed been years since he had really laughed, but now he was with his friends in a new world, a brighter one than their last.

“Umm… We were worried when we couldn’t find you… HOW DARE YOU LEAVE US LIKE THIS?!! A CURSE UPON YOUR COWARDLY ACTIONS!!”

“You promised me you’d be my wingman to help me find true love in this new world. I had to go out without you!”

“And got rejected no doubt.”

“Hey!”

Eventually his various friends released him and/or finished lecturing him on his late arrival, depending on who was speaking at the time, and Owain was free to explore the main camp. Inigo walked with him for a while, pointing out various things of interest such as the designated training area, the tent used at meal times, and the members of the Shepherds that they had grown up hearing so much about. Soon though, Inigo stopped outside one tent in particular and gestured to the door, watching Owain’s reaction as he stepped towards the opening. Inigo just awkwardly patted Owain on the back before walking away, allowing Owain a moment to brace himself for the moment that the heroes of legend would meet once more.

He pushed his way through the entrance of the tent, standing tall as he faced his father for the first time in years.

Lon’qu looked much as Owain remembered, although this version had fewer visible scars, less grey in his hair, and a stricter expression on his face. Of course, this universe had never seen the years of marriage Owain’s parents had treasured, which he had been told had been the driving force in softening his father’s personality. He hadn’t found the words to say before Lon’qu looked up, and the lack of recognition on his face made Owain’s heart sink briefly before he remembered that he was lucky he hadn’t been stabbed yet. He waited for a few minutes, trying to get his father’s attention and only getting a grunt in reply. Finally, Lon’qu must have got bored of him, looking up and speaking.

“What do you want.”

His father was to the point as ever, and Owain nearly smiled at the familiar voice. It was as if he was a naughty child being scolded again, the easily recognisable tone in his voice, as cold as a winter in Regna Ferox. Instead, he found that his hand was twitching beside his sword’s handle, a smile forming on his face at the thought of a completely impartial and unbiased fight.

“I wish to challenge you, the legendary swordsmaster champion of the West-Khan, to a duel.”

“What.”

“I mean what I say. I wish to train with you, noble master.”

He had heard that his father had rarely refused a challenge during his days fighting beside Owain’s uncle and mother, and it appeared that the information was correct. Lon’qu rose from his seat, walking out of the tent in the general direction of the training area without another word. Owain followed eagerly, watching his father stop in the middle of the space and draw his sword, waiting for Owain to do the same. They bowed to each other, Owain’s a flamboyant gesture while his father’s was little more than a nod, and the match began.

After a while, they had drawn something of a crowd. Some were just curious to see who was mad enough to be taking on Lon’qu while others watched knowingly as Owain faced his father in what was possibly their most even match yet. Occasionally Owain would call out some ridiculous move name, and Lon’qu would scowl or grunt in annoyance at the display. Somewhere in the crowd, Lissa was watching and seeing the resemblance between the two men, a strangely serious look on her face.

As Lon’qu found himself winning by a far smaller margin than he was used to, he began to notice exactly what kind of moves his opponent was using and suddenly he was back in the Arena Ferox by Khan Basilio’s side, watching Chrom fight ‘Marth’ with his own moves. He found himself speaking the same words Chrom had used that day, without even really thinking about it.

“Tell me, who taught you to fight like that?”

As he finished his sentence, they reached an impasse. Lon’qu’s blade rested against his opponent’s neck, but it wasn’t until he heard the mutterings of the crowd that he noticed the point of his opponent’s blade resting against his own chest. He looked at the other swordsman’s face in surprise, seeing a grin forming on his face.

“The fabled hero from whom I am descended, none other than you, my father!”

Lon’qu didn’t even think about how ridiculous the statement was compared to Lucina’s simple ‘my father’, as he found his ability to move and stormed away through the crowd, leaving Owain stood silently, watching.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, indulging my friend's shipping, and the start of true family bonding this chapter. Fun times for all.

It had been a few days since Owain had been recruited by his Uncle’s Shepherds, and it was something of a dream come true for him. He had filled pages upon pages of his justice manual with records of the events he’d seen, detailed profiles of all of his favourite members of the Shepherds, and he’d even managed to get Severa’s father to give him a couple of sketches of Lissa and Lon’qu to include amongst the pages.  

Besides that, he’d been trying his best to connect with his parents. He spent time watching Lon’qu train, even if he never got a verbal response to any of his questions, or even an acknowledgment of their relationship. It was far from what Owain had wanted, but it was something at least. He had also been spending more time with Lissa, which usually meant spending time with Maribelle and occasionally Brady too. Their meetings generally involved sitting together with tea and listening to stories about Lissa and Maribelle’s childhoods. Admittedly, Owain and Brady were generally not part of the conversation, but Owain was content to just listen. His mother still seemed awkward whenever Owain was in the same room, but he was sure things would be fine when she was used to the idea. He still hadn’t quite worked out what had changed in this world to prevent his parent’s marriage, but he was learning to come to terms with it. He just assumed that his parents would have to do the same, eventually. Until then, he would try his absolute best to prove himself worthy of his heroic bloodline.

Just a few minutes were all that was required to ruin any illusion he had of fitting in.

He had entered the barracks with a fierce appetite, after a particularly exhausting training session needed to satisfy his sword hand. He received his meal and looked around for somewhere to eat, eyes catching the movement of Inigo waving at him and gesturing to an empty seat between himself and Gerome. Owain began to move towards them, when he saw a table at the back of the tent where his mother was sitting facing away from him, Maribelle by her side and Brady opposite them. Owain waved at Inigo as he moved past the seat offered to him, hoping to spend the meal talking to his mother. He would have sought out his father, but Lon’qu rarely ate with the others.

As he was approaching his mother, he began to hear the conversation they were having, happy to realise that they were discussing weapons.

“Aww come on Brady, just because you’re a healer doesn’t mean you’re useless! Look at me and your mother!”

“You’re right, Darling. Brady, you see myself and Lissa handling weapons as well as staves on a daily basis. How is it still a foreign concept to you that you could use a weapon yourself? You could possibly even wield Falchion if you so desired, for goodness sake."

Finally, a conversation where he could be of use. His steps got a little faster, and he was right behind his mother when he froze.

“Yeah, she’s right! That can be our thing, the family of badass healers! All of us with our staves and weapons, felling risen together!”

Brady looked up, rolling his eyes, before he saw Owain. He muttered something to the blondes opposite him, who turned around in time to see Owain turning and walking away, dropping his bowl in front of Morgan’s father. Stahl’s appetite was as famed as his battle prowess, and Owain had suddenly found himself with no desire to eat. He left the tent, ignoring the whispers and calls from his friends behind him, and ran off into the approaching twilight.

The first Lon’qu heard about Owain’s disappearance was when one of his so-called son’s friends was pushed into his tent while loudly complaining about being the one to have to talk to the ‘intimidating alternate father’. He didn’t even look up from his food, choosing to ignore the unwanted intruder. He assumed that Owain had sent in someone else to try and convince him to train with the boy, or to give more eyewitness testimony about his alternate self raising Owain.

Truth be told, he was more swayed by the evidence every day. The boy did resemble him, he supposed, and there was no mistaking the style of fighting he preferred. At the same time, He could see Lissa’s optimism and energy in Owain, and it hurt, because some version of him had apparently succeeded where he himself had failed.

Perhaps it was the similarities he saw in the boy that made him get up and walk out of the tent. Perhaps it was the box still sitting amongst his clothes with the ring still inside reminding him of his failures that drove him to join the search party. Perhaps it was the sense of isolation he felt that had lead him to a clearing in the nearby woods he had used for practice when he was tired of being surrounded by people. He knew Owain had been watching him train, and so he wouldn’t be surprised if the boy had trailed him to that particular spot.

Finding the boy there was barely a surprise, but what he was doing seemed frankly bizarre. Since Owain had joined them, he had never been seen wielding anything but the same killing edge. Now, however, he was standing in the middle of the clearing waving a stave around. This was nonsense. If a child of Lissa didn’t use a stave or tomes on a regular basis, then it seemed likely that he had less of an aptitude for magic than the tree he was apparently trying to heal. If he carried on trying to use the heal staff, he would only end up doing himself damage.

“Those don’t work on trees.”

Owain jumped, dropping the stave and turning around with a guilty look on his face. Lon’qu just walked towards him, picking up the stave and examining it. There wasn’t a name engraved on it anywhere, which implied that it was unlikely to belong to the boy himself, even if Lon’qu wasn’t sure why he knew that. Perhaps he’d been keeping more of an eye on Owain than he’d thought. As if anticipating what he was going to say next, Owain began to explain himself.

“That stave is the charge of my noble cousin, and I am required to ensure it receives not even a scratch, that its temporary misplacement is unnoticed.”

Lon’qu resisted the urge to roll his eyes at both the phrasing and the realisation that he’d just stolen the thing from Brady. There was presumably a reason, but Lon’qu had no idea what it could be. He wasn’t equipped to deal with this level of childish behaviour. He couldn’t deal with women, let alone precocious teenagers. Once again though, Owain seemed to know what he was thinking and began to explain. No one had ever been able to talk to him so easily with his customary lack of verbal cues, but this boy had no trouble.

“My mother is a fabled healer, as are Lady Maribelle and my cousin. They were discussing their strategy for Brady’s instruction while devouring the felled corn, and…”

He trailed off, though it clearly wasn’t the end of the story. Lon’qu was losing patience with him, and it was getting worryingly close to dark to be separated from the group, but something within him compelled him to try and keep Owain talking.

“And?”

 The combination of whatever had happened and hearing Lon’qu actually speak to him must have affected Owain enough for him to drop his fancy speech. It was strange how young he sounded when he wasn’t putting on his act.

“Mother said they were a family. A family of healers, all learning together. I thought maybe if I learnt, then I could…”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. Lon’qu understood the feeling of not fitting in.

Owain just stood there watching his father, pulling at the chain he wore around his neck. Threaded onto it was the ring his mother had worn throughout his childhood, one of the last physical items he had to remind him of her. As he drew it out from beneath his shirt, his father’s eyes widened slightly. Owain had learnt early on how to read his father’s reactions in order to be able to talk to him, even if Lon’qu wasn’t talking back. Honestly, he suspected that he had always annoyed his father at least a little with that particular habit. For now, though, Lon’qu’s attention was suddenly drawn to something behind Owain. He didn’t even have time to turn to look before his father was shouting, which was in itself a shock.

“DOWN! NOW!”

Owain found himself being dragged to the floor as his father let out an involuntary grunt of pain. He twisted his head around, trying to see what was going on, and what he saw made his blood run cold.

“Your shoulder! Father, you’re hit!”

“Nngh… Archers… in the trees… We’re outnumbered… We have to get out of here! Now GO!”

“R-right!”

Lon’qu let him up, and Owain paused only long enough to grab the stave he’d borrowed from Brady’s tent before running, trying not to fall down again in sheer panic, not from the knowledge of the archers, but from watching his father running beside him with an artificial object sticking out of his shoulder. The sight of it made him feel nauseous.

They finally managed to get to within the light of the torches surrounding the camp, which would hopefully be enough to scare off any foes who had dared to chase them.

“We lost them… We should be safe here.”

“Gods, not again…”

Lon’qu looked at him questioningly, wondering vaguely if Owain was going to be sick. Whatever the case, he was pointedly avoiding meeting his eyes. Lon’qu just watched him, the only response coming naturally to him formulating itself as a questioning grunt. Owain carried on talking, but it seemed more like he was berating himself than speaking to the older swordsmaster.

“Why?! Why did you take that arrow for me?! You could have died! This is how it happens, you know! This is exactly… Er… Oh, Father…”

“Are you crying? What’s wrong?”

Lon’qu was genuinely curious. As far as he could tell, Owain was furious that a man who wasn’t even married to his mother, let alone acknowledging that Owain was his child, had taken an arrow for him. Now the boy was crying, and honestly Lon’qu was out of his depth.

“I… No, nothing. Nothing is wrong. It was… just an act, all right? Just forget I said anything. More importantly, we need to get that shoulder looked at. I’ll go get help.”

With that, Owain left Lon’qu alone in the shadows cast by the torches, with nothing to explain the boy’s strange behaviour but an unbelievable story and a painfully familiar ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going away very soon to various places with no internet, so this will probably be the the last chapter I can post for quite some time. Hopefully i'll find a wifi hotspot somewhere on my travels, but if I don't i'm sorry...


	5. Chapter 5

The boy had been true to his word, as Lissa appeared moments later, staff in hand, to direct him to the healing tent. Lon’qu would rather have seen any of the other healers, perhaps excluding Maribelle, although he supposed it was only natural for the boy to go to his mother. Of course, there was always the chance that the boy was lying, though it was getting harder to believe that. Not only were the other children vouching for him, and who could doubt the brand in Lucina’s eye, but some of his mannerisms were painfully similar to Lissa’s behaviour.

They were both easily excited, although Owain took it rather further than Lissa. They shared a love of the colour yellow, they held the same optimistic ideals, and much to the fear of the other members of the Shepherds they were both known to enjoy putting together pranks. It was easy to see the possibility of them being mother and child, even if they still looked like they could be siblings thanks to the complexities of his arrival.

By the time he had given up thinking about it, they had reached the healing tent. Due to the late hour, there were only a couple of people resting on the makeshift beds. Lissa pointed to a bench in the corner of the tent, where Lon’qu sat as directed. The time he had been forced to spend with her at Chrom’s request had made him more comfortable with her than any other woman he knew, but he still found himself flinching away as her hands touched the area around the arrow.

“Aww come on Lon’qu! After all that time you spent as my bodyguard, I thought you could tolerate me at least.”

Lon’qu merely grunted in response, steeling himself for the inevitable contact that would follow. Sure enough, she soon returned to the arrow in his shoulder, preparing to draw it out.

“You really ought to stop getting shot, you know.”

“Would you rather be treating your son instead?”

Lissa made a small sound of annoyance as she pulled out the arrow altogether. He bore the pain with only a clenching of fists and quiet wincing, and it was over as quickly as it had begun. Once the arrow was removed, it was simply a case of Lissa healing the wound, and then he could return to the solitude of his tent.

“I’d rather not have to heal either of you! It didn’t stop you two from running off into an ambush though.”

Lon’qu didn’t reply, leaving Lissa to continue her work in an awkward silence. If nothing else, she had to admit that he was a good patient.

“Honestly, if you could tolerate women as well as you tolerate pain, you would have no problems at all.”

“Hmm.”

Lon’qu could scarcely agree. His tolerance for pain had been built up over years of furious training with occasionally little regard for his own health. His problems with women had been nothing but a growing paranoia with every female acquaintance he had made, until he had simply stopped trying.

“It looks like at least one version of you got over it, if Owain’s existence is anything to go by.”

Lon’qu responded simply with a look, while Lissa turned the conversation to Maribelle and Brady’s relationship. It seemed that once Maribelle had gotten over her initial exasperation with the boy, she’d taken him under her wing and resolved to make him useful even if she couldn’t succeed in making him a ‘true gentleman’. Honestly, Lon’qu was glad that Lissa was happy with the family she had found, though he hoped that she would soon adopt her son as Maribelle had her own boy, for Owain’s sake.

“Your boy was trying to heal a tree, when I found him.”

He hopes that Lissa would read between the lines and realise how the boy felt, but when he looked at her face and saw something like guilt on her features, he guessed that she already knew. Brady, the son of her wife and a healer himself, had more interests in common than her own son. Lucina was Maribelle’s child in the other universe too, but no one could question which parent she was more similar to. He was broken from that chain of thought by Lissa’s next comment.

“Psh, ‘your boy’. Have you looked at Owain? You look way too similar for him to be lying. He fights like you too. I think you know it though, since you took an arrow for him when he’s basically a stranger.”

“I would do the same for any member of this army.”

He would, of course, assuming he could see no other way. In the clearing it was almost as if he had been blinded by panic, for some reason he couldn’t quite realise.

“I’m starting to believe it! I’m banning you from getting shot for someone else again, ok?”

“I’m sure you are tired of seeing me.”

Lissa looked at him a little sadly before her usual smile returned to her face and she moved away.

“Nah, we agreed to be friends way back then, remember! Anyway, I’m finished so you can go.”

She gave him the usual lecture about making sure the wound was fully healed, etc, before she actually allowed him to leave, but it wasn’t too long until he could make his escape. As soon as he left the tent, however, he all but tripped over Owain who was sitting on the floor outside, writing in some tattered book.

He immediately got up, looking at Lon’qu’s shoulder as his eyes drifted to the tear in his clothing where the arrow had been not long ago. As soon as he saw the wound was closed at least, Owain sighed in relief and closed his justice manual before following after Lon’qu, who had kept walking. Lon’qu just looked at him in vague annoyance before he felt the need to ask the boy something to give him anything to focus on other than Lon’qu himself.

“The archers?”

Sure enough, that was all that he needed to say for Owain to go into what Lon'qu expected to be one of his traditional flowery speeches on the subject.

“As soon as I had alerted my noble mother to come to your aid, I sought out my cousin and uncle, renowned warriors both, to decimate the threat. All should be well with our camp’s borders now.”

“Good.”

Even if Owain had reverted to his usual pattern of speech, his explanation was suspiciously concise. Lon’qu hoped that the boy’s resilience would have him back to his normal loud and overbearing self by morning. As they reached Lon’qu’s tent, he excused himself and returned to the safety of his own space. He prepared for the night, made sure that everything was in its proper place, and then lay on his bunk and tried to sleep. The comfort of slumber failed him, however, and he found himself searching for the item that had been haunting him since his conversation with Owain. He found the ring soon enough, examining it and finding it matched his memory of the one Owain carried exactly. If only he had… No, it wasn’t the time for regrets. He put the ring back where he had found it, deciding that if he couldn’t sleep, he would train instead.

Owain, meanwhile, had continued on to the tent he shared with Brady to find that he was waiting there with Cynthia. He had barely crossed the threshold of the tent before Cynthia was ambushing him.

“There was an attack and you didn’t call me? I’m offended! I had just finished gathering flower petals, I could have used them for a grand entrance before trying the new heroic moves we came up with!”

Brady was rolling his eyes, dragging Cynthia away from Owain to give him space to get to his bed.

“What happened to you anyway? Ma saw you runnin’ for the medical tent and lookin’ like you were gonna cry.”

“Like you’re one to talk about crying.”

Brady looked like he was on the verge of attacking Cynthia, armed or not, before Owain explained himself.

“My father’s legendary skill alerted him to the presence of an ambush. He… he took an arrow for me.”

The other two both winced, and Cynthia threw herself at him in a hug. From what little of Brady’s face he could see behind Cynthia’s hair, Owain’s cousin looked like he was about to cry after all. They both knew why Owain had been so worried, and no doubt the reminder of what had happened in their past had stirred up some bad memories for the other two as well.

“Have no fear, comrades! My father lives to fight again.”

The two recovered immediately, smiling and even laughing with relief that Owain knew ran far deeper than merely joy over Lon’qu’s survival. If he had survived something so similar to… well, perhaps there was truly hope that this future could be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My parents decided we should go home between our two holidays, so I have internet for one night and I can post this chapter. I'm hoping to finish it while i'm away, so updates should be more regular when i'm back. Thank you so much to everyone who's left comments or kudos, you're keeping me writing.


	6. Chapter 6

Lon’qu soon found himself spending a lot of time with Owain, through a series of what could be called coincidences, though he was inclined to think that they were no such thing. The first instance came when they were both assigned to mess duty, and Lon’qu walked in to find Owain trying to peel a potato, and removing twice as much flesh from the thing as he did skin. Lon’qu just sighed, holding his hand out until Owain got the point and handed Lon’qu the vegetable. He used the knife to take off just the top layer of the root, wasting as little of it as possible before he put it aside and picked up the next. He had peeled a few more before he got tired of seeing Owain staring at him out of the corner of his eye.

“The food will not cook itself.”

Owain stuttered an apology before turning to the other ingredients.

“Your potato peeling skills are truly as wonderful as Mother always said they were. Your calm posture and the easy grace of the movement of your wrist as you work are truly a testament to your skills with a blade-“

“This isn’t a battle. This is cooking.”

Owain just smiled and went back to his own work, humming to himself quietly as he did so. The tune was one that Lon’qu vaguely recognised, but couldn’t quite place. Before he could think about it further, Owain was talking again.

“Forgive me for my exaggerations Father, but by the time I was old enough to understand the simple pleasures of domestic activities like cooking, our world was a veritable stew of conflict. I never had the chance to observe you in such a normal scenario when I was young.”

Some children may have said that bitterly, Lon’qu thought, but Owain seemed perfectly calm. Cordelia’s girl seemed to do all she could to make her mother uncomfortable, Panne’s boy had been terrorising his parents in a fit of paranoia ever since they’d found him, but here was Owain talking about his terrible past as if it was nothing. The boy was resilient, and Lon’qu could respect that.

 

The next time he found himself paired with Owain was on watch duty. They were patrolling the north side of the campsite on a warm afternoon, supposedly watching for risen or other, more mortal, enemies, though Owain could be easily distracted. Of course, he was attuned to the usual signs of approaching enemies as well as anyone who had spent most of their life fighting a war would be, and so he was reliable in that respect. Unless he had reason to suspect such an occurrence though, he spent his time marvelling at the beauty of the world around him. From what he’d overheard of Owain’s conversations with Lissa, Olivia’s boy, anyone else who would listen to Owain’s ramblings, Lon’qu had gathered that there had been little to no plants or other such natural features left. Not that he’d been listening out for Owain in particular, or anything like that.

“Father, look at this!”

Lon’qu had long since given up on reprimanding Owain when he referred to him as Father, since the boy seemed determined to forget his objections.

“We are watching for enemies, not whatever you’re looking at.”

“But look at it! Clad in yellow just like Mother and I, so small and delicate but strong enough to have survived thus far. It’s a magnificent creature.”

Owain was crouching now, looking at a bunch of leaves growing from a nearby plant. Lon’qu reluctantly looked over, spotting the yellow object that had captured Owain’s attention. It was a butterfly, and Owain had been right when he said it was magnificent. Lon’qu crouched beside the boy, reaching out towards the little insect and holding it there until the creature wandered onto his fingertips.

“Hold out your hand.”

Owain did as he was instructed, and Lon’qu gently encouraged the butterfly to move to Owain’s hand. As soon as he felt it walking over his skin, Owain’s face lit up in delight. While the boy watched the butterfly, Lon’qu watched the boy, and for the first time since Owain had challenged him when they met Lon’qu saw something that he truly recognised. His fighting style anyone could learn with enough dedication and practice, but the expression on a face that held so many similarities to his own that he could barely deny it anymore as Owain watched the insect dance across his fingertips was almost painfully familiar. 

Eventually the butterfly flew off and Lon’qu stood up abruptly, Owain soon following.

“We completed our whole shift with no distractions.”

Owain laughed, and the corners of Lon’qu’s mouth may have twitched up slightly. Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

 

The third time he found himself working with Owain was in the armoury, taking inventory of the weapons and equipment they had spare. After hearing from other members of the Shepherds about how little fun inventory could be if you were paired with the wrong person, for example Robin’s stories about the lectures she would get from Kjelle every time they had to check the armoury, but Lon’qu couldn’t exactly say that he was having fun.

“This process would be a lot faster if you didn’t give every weapon we check a name.”

“But a name is of the utmost importance! It proves the connection between a weapon and the person who wields it, gives the weapon a soul and a purpose! It forges a bond of trust which is invaluable in battle.”

Lon’qu continued noting down the number of steel swords, checking for any chips or cracks. Owain was looking over the killing edges, newer and cleaner versions of the one that hung at his side.

“I suppose that your weapon has a name, then.”

“Of course. It bears the same name as the noblest warrior I ever heard the tale of. A legend in his time. Someone who gave his all, even his life to protect those that he loved... Someone who should have been too strong to be defeated by just a normal Risen, but somehow I didn’t see it coming! You had no business dying when I was the one too stupid to watch his own back!”

What had started as just one of Owain’s normal speeches had turned into some kind of emotional outburst. Obviously whatever Owain was talking about had been preying on him for a long time, and Lon’qu suddenly realised that he knew the name that Owain’s, that his son’s, sword bore. He wasn’t sure he believed it, but he gestured to the shoulder that had taken the arrow on the night that they’d spoken in the forest clearing.

“Is that what this was about? I die protecting you in the future?”

“…Yes. An arrow wound, just like the one you took in this world, again in my defense. That night, all those feelings of guilt and shame returned. I just couldn’t stand it.”

Lon’qu looked at Owain, who looked younger than ever and close to tears no matter how much he might blink. He had grown up without parents, apparently saw at least his father killed, and then went on to fight the war that they had lost. For the first time in a long while, he felt compelled to offer some kind of comfort. It was difficult for him to find enough words to say it, but by now he had little choice but to accept that Owain would be, and had in fact already become, important to him.

“I’m sorry to have dredged up those painful memories, Owain. But more than that… I’m sorry I left you by yourself in the future.”

“Father, no!”

Owain was glaring at him indignantly, and Lon’qu found himself almost grateful that any emotion but sadness was on his face. Apparently the boy hadn’t finished though, because he kept going.

“You never left me! I never felt alone- not once! You and Mother were always with me because you were WITHIN me! I’m the scion of a heroine who gave me life and a hero who gave his life to save mine!”

Owain spoke of his parents always being with him, and he seemed so sincere as he did. For Lon’qu, that hurt more than the wound he took for the boy, because Owain had seen his parents die for him in his world only to find his way to a new world and a second chance, where his father hadn’t had the courage to give Owain his family back. For now, all he could do was reach out a hand to place on Owain’s shoulder, to provide what little comfort he still could.

It was getting late by the time they had finished taking inventory, and Lon’qu had sought out Frederick for a word about work schedules afterwards, but afterwards he found the person he was looking for easily enough.

“I understand I have you to thank for the time I’ve been spending with our son.”

Lissa grinned up at him, gesturing for him to sit next to her. He did so, albeit slightly reluctantly, as she began to explain.

“I’ve been trying to spend more time with Owain lately, and he never stops talking about you! It’s adorable, really.”

There was no jealousy in Lissa’s voice as she said it, and the smile on her face seemed to prove that she really did like the boy. At least they both cared for Owain, if nothing else.

“He talks about me. So you get Frederick to assign him to me as my personal project?”

“I just told Frederick that you were thinking of making Owain your squire. All those old fashioned knightly traditions can get him to do anything you want him to. I figured that if you spent enough time with him, you’d realise how obviously similar he is to you, and here you are calling him our son! Obviously it worked!”

It didn’t seem like that was all she had to say, so he turned to look at her, eyebrow raised. She just sighed, looking over fondly to where Maribelle was standing, arguing with Gregor about something.

“I found my happiness, Lon’qu. It’s time you found yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Free McDonald's wifi in other countries is great. Turns out this fic is going to be a little longer than I expected, so there's maybe 2 chapters and an epilogue left? Not sure yet. Enjoy :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically setting up for the next chapter, so if it seems like nothing is really resolved, that's why.

If she ignored the fact that she was in the middle of a war, Lissa found herself quite content with her life. She was happily married, surrounded by her closest friends, and she was rapidly improving in battle. Gone were the days when she would wonder if she was a burden, wielding only a staff with no way of protecting herself. Now, she could fell as many risen as most of the other shepherds if she put her mind to it. She’d even ended up with children, which she had assumed would be pretty much out of the question when she had married Maribelle.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly the conventional method of raising children, when they appeared one day almost your age and born from a relationship you’d never been in, but it was something. Although, when she thought about the fact that her wife’s child was apparently her brother’s son, things got a bit weird. Lissa preferred to think about what Emm would have thought of her and Chrom being parents instead. She’d always idolised her older sister, and now that Owain had arrived bearing the brand Lissa could finally put to rest her fears of illegitimacy and know that she really did deserve her place in their family. She was broken from her chain of thought by the voice of the very boy she’d been thinking about.

“Ah, there you are!”

“Were you looking for me, honey?”

Owain stood before her with a cheerful expression on his face, and Lissa couldn’t help but appreciate how much happier he looked now than when he’d arrived. Of course, he’d had to get over his father refusing to acknowledge him and his mother not knowing what to do with him at first. She couldn’t help but regret her part in his unhappiness. After spending so much time with him, both in the presence of Maribelle and Brady or alone, she had come to understand him so much better.

“There's something I need to know, Mother.”

“And what's that?”

For a moment she was worried that he was going to ask her something serious, like why she hadn’t married Lon’qu, or why she had been so much friendlier with Brady than her own child, but then he spoke and put her mind temporarily at ease.

“The name of your weapon.”

It was all Lissa could do not to laugh at the serious look on his face as he said it. His eccentricities had been part of her trouble communicating with him at first, but she soon got used to it. Weapons in particular were apparently a common topic of conversation, and she could tell that this was important to him. Why, she didn’t know.

“My weapon? Why?”

“What manner of son would I be not to know the name which guards his mother?! Teach me so I may whisper its sobriquet in prayer and keep you ever safe.”

She should probably have expected something like this. She’d overheard him discussing weapon names with various members of the shepherds before, so it seemed pretty natural for him to ask his mother. As natural as it was for him to discuss the names of inanimate objects with anyone, anyway. He didn’t think he’d approve of her reply though.

“It doesn't have one.”

His reaction was immediate, his face contorting into a ridiculous gasp of surprise, and once again Lissa had to try desperately not to laugh.

“You've granted it no name?!”

“Right. I mean, why bother?”

Since she had heard him have this conversation with so many others, she was mostly teasing him. She knew his reasons well enough, or at least the reasons he had given everyone else who would listen to him. Brady in particular had spent quite some time raging at Maribelle after his lecture, which gave Lissa all the information she needed.

“MOTHER! A name confers a soul unto an inanimate object and grants it power! It transforms a mere tool into a divine instrument possessed of limitless potential!”

She hadn’t thought it possible that his expression could get any more entertaining. She knew that if she stayed any longer she would be risking hysterics, and she didn’t want him to think that she didn’t support him in his hobbies.

“I'll give it some thought, all right? But right now I've got to be going. Bye!”

She got up and walked away as quickly as she could without running, covering her mouth to stifle the giggles escaping her. He must have inherited the weapon obsession from Lon’qu, who was known for keeping every blade he owned in perfect order. The thought of Lon’qu naming his weapons in such a manner though… It made Lissa’s giggles turn to outright laughter, and by the time she got back to her tent Maribelle was demanding to know who she needed to punish for the tears running from Lissa’s eyes.

When Owain thought about Lon’qu naming his weapons however, it seemed nothing but natural. As soon as he’d recovered from the unsatisfactory conversation with his mother, he walked off to find his father in order to pose the same question. He managed to ambush Lon’qu as he was leaving his tent, not noticing the expression on his father’s face changing from annoyed, to resigned, to neutral.

“Father?”

“Hmm?”

Owain repeated the question he had already tried with Lissa, and even his mother’s calm statement of her weapon’s lack of a name was more interesting than the silence he got from his father. When he looked at Lon’qu’s face, however, it almost looked like he was seriously considering the question.

“This is important to you.”

“It is of the utmost importance, not only to myself but to you, that you may forge a powerful bond with your weapon and unlock its true potential in the heat of battle!”

Lon’qu looked at his boy’s face, and beneath the expression of cheerful determination lay such a look of almost childish innocence that he knew he wouldn’t be able to deny the boy this. Of course, it all seemed a little ridiculous, but he would play along.

“Then I suppose we should discuss it.”

Steeling himself for the conversation that was to come, Lon’qu retreated back into his tent, Owain following him. If he had to do this, he was at least going to do it away from the other shepherds. Being heard trying Owain’s ridiculous names for his sword wouldn’t be flattering to his reputation. When he saw the length of the list of suggestions his son had come up with though, Lon’qu was beginning to seriously regret his decision to have the conversation at all.

“Gryphonsbane Edge!"

“No.”

“Fell Ballista?”

Lon’qu just looked at Owain, who got the point. They had been through every name on the list, and they were all too ridiculous for him to consider. In fact, he would have given up after the first page if Owain hadn’t looked so utterly happy to be discussing it. Even his constant refusals seemed to be doing little to affect the boy’s mood.

“Then how about we try a different approach? Perhaps, like my own companion, you would prefer to bestow upon yours the title of a person of legend? Surely there is someone you admire, whose strength you could channel through your blade?”

Lon’qu had never been one for legends of the past, preferring to live up to the standards of people of the present such as Khan Basilio, or even Chrom. To name his sword after one of them would be bordering on the ridiculous, even if he was so inclined, and so he settled on another. Someone who’s name deserved to live on, even if it were only in the form of a blade.

“…Ke’ri.”

“I have never heard any tales of heroes by that name… Could it be that my father withheld from me the story of a legend so great he would choose to take from it the name of his blade? Perhaps you could tell me the story now?”

Lon’qu almost regretted bringing it up at all when faced with his son’s questioning, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was a story he wanted to tell Owain. He supposed that in the other world, if he had married Lissa then he must have overcome his fears, but… In this world, he had failed. He didn’t know if he was prepared to reveal what Lon’qu truly considered his greatest failure, and in fact the reason that Owain had found his family torn apart, but the boy was looking at him hopefully and Lon’qu didn’t wish to deny him any more than he could help. Thankfully, he was saved by the voices of some of Owain’s friends walking past.

“Come on Inigo, don’t you have any more ideas?”

“I already told you I don’t, and anyway I’m too busy to help! Now if you’ll finally excuse me, I have places to be.”

“Ugh, fine, go to your special secret dance practice hideout. Come on Morgan. Hey, maybe when we find him we can sneak up on him and try our new special moves!”

Owain glanced towards the opening of the tent, where Inigo’s noises of embarrassment and Cynthia and Morgan’s laughter were still clear, before looking back at his father with a distracted look on his face. Lon’qu was honestly grateful for the chance to end the conversation there anyway, so he took advantage of it.

“Go. Use this chance to ambush them instead. Make me proud.”

Owain grinned, getting up and throwing his arms around Lon’qu before he could get out of the way. Owain released him quickly enough, running out of the tent after his friends, but Lon’qu remained frozen where the boy had grabbed him, before relaxing slightly and even allowing himself a small smile. Perhaps one day he would gather the courage to tell Owain everything, and until then he would bear his newly-named weapon with pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this chapter took so long. I was intending to get it all finished by the time I moved to Uni, but obviously that didn't happen. Thankfully, I only have the epilogue left to write now, so I'm hoping I'll have it all posted relatively soon. Thank you to anyone still reading this, and I hope you enjoy this chapter :) There's only one left before the epilogue, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so here's part 2 of the last chapter :)

Lissa had realised that she wouldn’t be able to avoid answering Owain’s question forever, but she hadn’t expected him to turn up at her tent the next morning, announcing that Lon’qu had named his sword. If Lon’qu had given in, then she didn’t stand a chance of avoiding it now, even if she’d wanted to avoid it after seeing how happy Owain looked when he spoke of his success. She’d just have to make sure she picked a cooler name than Lon’qu had. Whatever name she chose though, she and her son would choose it together.

“What do you think I should name it?”

Of course, she regretted her decision a little more when he produced the 26 page list of names. Especially since they all seemed a little overblown for a run-of-the-mill weapon. She hated to disappoint him, but she couldn’t see herself using any of these names.

“I think I'll pass. These just aren't me.”

Sure enough, his face fell, and she was wondering what he’d do next. She was almost expecting another few pages to appear from somewhere, but it seemed he would rather argue his case some more.

“But without a name, your weapon will forever remain some mundane object! How can I rely on a mere tool to keep you safe in the heat of battle?”

As she thought about what he was saying, she realised what he had meant all this time. All of the people she’d overheard him discussing weapon names with, they were people who mattered to him. People he was afraid he’d lose, perhaps for a second time. She pulled him into a hug, meant to comfort him, but also perhaps to hide the guilt on her face from failing to realise just what this meant to him.

“I had it wrong this whole time. You were just worried about me, weren't you?”

“Waugh! L-let go! You're choking me!”

She released him, stepping back to look at his face. He’d gone from looking sad to embarrassed, and the expression looked just like the face his father made when trying to speak to a woman. The realisation reminded her of Owain’s name for his sword, which in turn gave her an idea.

“All right, Owain, I've got it! I picked one!”

He grinned, the look that mirrored his father’s face so closely fading to an expression closer to Lissa’s own smiles.

“Ah, right! Well, let's hear it! No doubt it joins your quiet grace with your fiery strength and iron resolve!”

“Owain!”

The smile stayed on his face, though he looked a little more confused than he had a minute ago.

“Yes?”

“No, that's the name. ...Owain.”

Now his expression was pure confusion, and it was enough to make Lissa giggle as she watched him try to figure it out.

“Mother, that's MY name.”

“I know, silly! It's the name of that which I value most in the whole wide world! What better name could there be?”

For a second, Owain just stared at her blankly, processing what she had said. She still regretted the way she had treated him at first, before she’d got to know him, but now… She wasn’t lying when she said how much she valued him. He was her son, no matter how long it had taken her to realise it, and she hoped that this small gesture would be enough to at least start to convince him of how much she had come to love him. It seemed though, that he still wasn’t sure about the idea.

“Yes, but won't that get a little... I don't know, confusing?”

“You named your sword after your father, and you don’t seem to find it confusing.”

Now that she realised how important the names of weapons were to him, the fact that he had named his sword for Lon’qu made it clear how much Owain cared about his father. Honestly, she was a little jealous, though based on what she’d understood of his story after Lon’qu had been shot, he had died protecting Owain in whatever world their son had come from. She supposed that Owain might just respect his father more than he did her. She began to look away, but noticed that Owain was pulling something from the pouch at his side. He produced a bundle of cloth, and began to unwrap it.

“Let me show you my finest weapon of all!”

For a second, she thought he was about to produce some amazing relic, perhaps covered in precious gems or something, but it seemed to be just a broken piece of metal. Her confusion must have been obvious, because he began to explain himself.

“...It’s actually just a piece of a staff. But… I named it ‘Lissa.’ You were holding it when you... Well, it’s my greatest treasure”

Lissa was for once silent as she took in the way he clung to it, to the tell-tale shine of his eyes, to the fact that he had spoken in a normal way for once. As for what he said… Had he been there when her other self had died? And his greatest treasure, named for her. She couldn't help the tears forming in her eyes at the thought of it.

“This time, I promise I'll be right there to rescue you when you're in trouble. We don't need fancy names or divine power, son, we just need each other.”

 

Owain had spent the rest of the day at his mother’s side, revelling in the time they could spend together, though there was one thing still on his mind. He had asked his mother if she knew of the name Ke’ri, and she had no idea. Surely, as royalty, she would have heard all of the tales of valour known throughout the kingdom. Could it be then, that his father had named his weapon for someone no one else had heard of? He was determined to find out, and so when he finally left his mother’s company, he sought out his father’s tent. As he walked in, his father greeted him with a strange expression on his face, almost one of guilt. Lon’qu had been expecting his son to find him eventually, and knew that he would have to reveal his past.

“Father, I have been unable to find any legends bearing the same name as your weapon. I thought perhaps that you might finally divulge to me the tale of someone so respected, you would name your blade for them?”

Though Lon’qu had spent all of his free time since their last conversation trying to think of a way to tell Owain, it was still with difficulty that he told his son the story of his childhood friend, the girl he had been unable to save. The one who had died to protect him, whose death had affected him so much that he had been unable to easily form friendships since. To Owain’s credit, he listened to the story in silence, though Lon’qu was almost expecting him to be disappointed by Lon’qu’s choice to name his weapon for her instead of some fabled warrior. Instead, his son seemed more solemn than usual in his first comment after the story’s end.

“I think it is a perfect name, to honour one who protected you once by granting the weapon that protects you now the same title.”

Owain’s face was all seriousness, and Lon’qu realised that the loss of a loved one was something his son knew all too well. Had he himself not died to protect Owain in the other world? Of course, his son would understand, and Lon’qu found himself for once in his life reaching out to comfort someone, pulling his son into an embrace. It wasn’t until they separated again that Owain initiated the conversation Lon’qu had been dreading.

“Father, knowing how important Ke’ri is to you, I don’t understand how I have never heard her name before. Surely you would have mentioned her to me while I was growing up?”

“I cannot speak for the father you knew then. Perhaps one day, he would have told you, or perhaps in confessing his love for your mother, he found peace with his past.”

Lon’qu looked over to the bundle of cloth concealing the ring he had meant for the Lissa of this world, but for once it did not bring him so much pain.

“In this world, I failed you. I never found the courage to tell your mother that I loved her, for fear of losing her. Despite my cowardice, I have found a son, and I am proud of everything you have become.”

What he said was true. Perhaps he had not found the courage in this lifetime to tell Lissa that he loved her, but somewhere he had, and somewhere he had raised the courageous, if eccentric, son he saw before him. Perhaps, for this lifetime, the chance to form such a bond with his son was all he needed to save him from himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is the last story chapter. Honestly i'm not sure how to feel about it, since this is my first FE:A fic and in some ways I don't want it to end, but i'm ready to complete it. Assuming I get round to writing the epilogue, which will exist. Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with this fic and left comments or kudos, and I hope you enjoyed this ending, and that you'll enjoy the epilogue when I post it.


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